Sin and Sacrifice
by Silent Amethyst
Summary: Blood: it was the framework of their lives. Sin and sacrifice; life and death. It gave them purpose.


**Sin and Sacrifice**

_Blood: it was the framework of their lives. Sin and sacrifice; life and death. It gave them purpose. _

.

Of the two of them, he was always the most direct victim of it.

Sin and sacrifice were the streams of red that flowed freely from him; scars that never entirely went away. One was born of his sin: of trying to attain a gift that was never his to have; the other born of his sacrifice: an exchange for a life he valued far more than the one leaking from him. Sinful blood had tied back a piece of that other life—his brother's life—he was responsible for, the price of that piece spilling sacrificial blood.

'…_anything, you can have it. Just give him back. He's my little brother; he's all I have left!'_

That sacrifice gave him a purpose to work for: to atone for sacrifice's sinful remnants, to redeem what he had been unable to exchange for his brother's complete return to reality. Never the sin itself, though. That was irredeemable.

…She didn't like it at all.

The soul tied to reality by _his _blood, _his_ blood staining the floors, clothes, sheets, metal…. She didn't like it, didn't want to deal with it, believe, it… but doing nothing wasn't an option. Forgiveness was something she'd never find in herself if she did nothing to keep the life from flowing out of him—and essentially his veryliteral blood brother.

'…_as long as your wearing my automail, you're stuck with this gear head whether you like it or not!'_

And so she was given a purpose… a purpose that helped him along with his purpose. She would do what she could to protect him, despite the grief it would give her so that hopefully, one day, none of them had to suffer this way again. Not her, him, or his brother.

She didn't like the sacrifice she had to make; it left her alone… robbed her of her childhood and innocence just as it had them. But as long as he was okay, she would survive.

.

.

The thought alone scared her so much.

In hindsight, she was very much like the girl in those romance stories, awaiting the return of her soldier. During those long months… years spent without so much as a postcard from him, it was difficult for her not to wonder, to imagine. There were so many dreadful things that could happen—_could have happened_—and she would have no clue. The possibilities were endless really, and the nightmares they would conjure were nothing her grandmother's assuring words could quell.

But this… seeing it, not imagining… _seeing_. It was so much worse than any picture her imagination could paint.

It was _real_.

This was the first time she had every seen him _really _fight. And she never wanted to see that. It gave heed to the nightmares; and worst of all…

_So much blood_… She never wanted to see his blood again. And she could see the perpetrator. She could _see _who was to blame for the injury this time.

Maybe the there wasn't blood flooding the street… that the injury wasn't fatal, but it hardly mattered anymore. All she could see was red. Red was the color of blood.

_That monster hurt him!_

And as if that weren't enough…

_That monster's going to kill him like he did my parents!_

All she could see was red; the blood of her family's lives framing her vision, and all she could think to do was _kill the monster first._

_Kill… let the monster's blood stain the streets… deserves it… done the same to my family._

But he would have none of it.

He didn't like the look of bloodlust in her eyes. It didn't belong. It was never supposed to be there and it was his fault that it was. The one time he thought past the consequences of his actions he was hurting her… _still. _Why, why, why?

And not only was he hurting her; the bloodlust… it was scaring him. It was scaring him because he was finally starting to realize just how well he did not know her. …Because she was never supposed to be capable of this and yet…

_No, I can't let her._

He would never let her. He would protect her from staining her hands with blood, even if it meant sacrificing his own in return.

_I won't let her._

Because she gave life; she didn't end it. And if that shot rang, if that blood was spilled, more than one man's life would end.

Hers would end with it, and with hers, his own.

… _Sacrifice my life… I won't let her sin._

.

.

Her life hung by a thread that only he could cut but had not tied. He hated it with a vengeance. He saw red when he saw the sinister puppeteers so masterfully playing out his course. They were grinning manically because her life hung by their thread, and if he didn't want that thread to be snapped, he had to play their game.

The game had always been there, unbeknownst to him until they brought her in as a player.

…_As their hostage._

She was never supposed to be brought into this game. And he would be damned if he didn't get her out of it.

_I can't let them cut her down._

Not when this game was so close to its finish. He couldn't let it end… let them walk away with her blood on their hands.

_No, __**my **__hands._

No, he'd gotten this far in the game without her involvement. He could—_would_—end this game with her safely out of it. Not getting her out of it… that was a sin no sacrifice could mend. Nothing short of his own life, at least. Just like it had been with his brother.

'…_Take my heart, anything, you can have it!'_

But she digressed.

No doubt, she wanted his heart, but not in that way. She didn't want to see him sacrifice anymore than she already had. She didn't want to see his blood spilling for her sake; seeing him do it for his brother was once too many. Besides, she wasn't worth that sacrifice.

She was a player in this game, capable just like all others; an equal. She was not a damsel. Her life was no more precious than his. In this game, chivalry was stupidity and well-intentioned sacrifices a waste.

Sins created this game and sins could be avoided.

_I won't let them cut him down. I won't be used as a burden._

.

_Blood: it was the framework of their lives. Sin and sacrifice; life and death. It gave them purpose. _

_Without it, they may never have realized their love held that kind of potential._


End file.
